Monthly Archives: March 2015

One of my childhood memories towards the end of Lent (which seemed to last forever) was of the services on the holy days before Easter. The ceremonies called Tenebrae (darkness) featured the extraordinary poetry of the Prophet Jeremiah in the form of his Lamentations. These would be performed on those days by a fairly well-rehearsed choir singing the Gregorian chants. I can’t claim to have been aware of the beauty of the texts back then. Eight years of study of Latin still lay before me. The Lamentations are one of the most poetic books of the Old Testament, apart from the Song of Songs, the Psalms and Ecclesiastes. Essentially, the prophet Jeremiah sees the destruction and desolation of Jerusalem (before it happens) and laments the inevitable catastrophe. Naturally, this great elegiac poetry was used by the Catholic Church in its Holy Week liturgy, not only because of the sorrow expressed therein but as an allegory. The destruction of the Temple of Jerusalem is seen as the death of Christ, but is also a call to the faithful to repent. The verse “Jerusalem, Jerusalem, convertare ad Dominum Deum tuum.” (Jerusalem, Jerusalem, turn back to the Lord your God,” is often used as a refrain of sorts. I have provided here three related engravings from the Gustave Doré Bible. The original paintings or drawings were by Doré, but the fine engravings were done by various journeymen engravers, as was the practice of the day. It was natural that great musicians, especially Catholic ones, would set these texts to the music of their time, and today, irrespective of our beliefs, the music continues to inspire us, especially as Easter and spring are upon us. It is the (necessary) darkness before dawn. If you Google “Lamentations,” or search for Lamentations or Tenebrae on YouTube and you will be able to access some of the extraordinary results. Below, is a partial list of the various settings to the Lamentations that I have collected, most of them from the Renaissance and Baroque periods. Many of these recordings are still available. For a good discography summary, click here (texts in French).

I will single out some of the better known settings. There are a number of recordings of the settings by Thomas Tallis (ca. 1505-1585) and the settings are brief enough to provide a good introduction to the genre. There are two sets, and both are presented here. There are also a couple of very beautiful settings by Giovanni Pierluigi da Palestrina (c. 1525-1594) and another by Tomas Luis de Victoria (1548-1611). French Renaissance and Baroque composers seem to have had a particular predilection for the Lamentations texts, and several of them set the words to music. The instrumentation is usually sparse, as befits the Lenten period.

There is one double CD set of Michel Lambert (1610-1696) on Virgin Classics featuring the three days (Wednesday-Thursday-Friday) and their Leçons de ténèbres, for soprano, alto, countertenor and tenor, accompanied by a viola da gamba, a theorbo, and keyboards instruments (harpsichord and positive organ). Well over two hours of sublime music, which you should spread over three days, preferably on quiet reflective evenings, if you still set aside the time to enjoy those. Other settings in that time period are also hauntingly beautiful in their own way. The beauty of the vocal writing, however, overrides the expression of any strong emotion. This was the Age of Reason, after all. And one contemporary cleric bemoaned the fact that the liturgical texts were now being offered as mundane and frivolous entertainment.

There are curiously no Romantic settings of the Lamentations. I am not sure why. In the 20th century, there were three notable composers inspired by the texts. Ernst Krenek (1900-1991) composed his Lamentations in 1941. I have only heard parts of it. It is a difficult piece, eerily beautiful, returning to the Gregorian now and then but superimposing twelve-tone writing. Leonard Bernstein (1918-1990) subtitled his First Symphony “Jeremiah” (1939-42). Igor Stravinsky (1882-1971) contributed his Threni (1958) — another bit of difficult twelve-tone writing. Last, but certainly not least is the Canadian composer Peter Anthony Togni’s composition Lamentations (2007). It is essentially a lengthy concerto for Bass Clarinet and Chorus. The bits of it that I have heard are remarkable and the composition has received excellent reviews. There is a recording of it, and this will certainly be my next acquisition, and a wonderful addition to my growing collection of Lamentations.

Over the many years I have been shuffling around in a kitchen, I have taken considerable delight in perfecting recipes. Many recipes, do not require this treatment, but in my experience in preparing one recipe following different instructions, I inevitably spend an afternoon doing a bit of research, and compiling my own recipe from several sources. It must be the academic in me. I am not good at improvising a recipe… nor am I good at memorizing one either. So it will come as no surprise that I collect recipes on my computer, from my cookbook library and from online sources. I admit that even today when just about everything is available on line, I still like to buy cookbooks.

Take Chicken Cacciatore for instance (or its French derivative Poulet Chasseur). I doubt that hunters in Italy or anywhere else for that matter make sport of shooting chickens in the barnyard, so the Cacciatore recipes were probably intended for rabbit or hare. No doubt the intrepid hunter (think Elmer Fudd) would often come back empty-handed, so a chicken had to do in a pinch.

Of course, you can shoot birds too, and I did find a Renaissance recipe for pigeons. It is in Lorenza de’Medici’s Florentines, a lovely little book I previously mentioned (see Food, Music and Silence – 18 January 2015). Given the recipe, I am inclined to see it as a precursor to Chicken Cacciatore. Read on, and you will see why.

Clean the pigeons, leaving heads and feet on, if still attached. Place in a flameproof casserole with all the other ingredients and cook over low heat for about 1½ hours. Take the pigeons from the casserole and discards heads and feet, if necessary. Halve the pigeons lengthwise and reserve. Continue to heat the sauce for about another hour until it thickens. Remove the rosemary and sage and purée the sauce in a food mill or food processor. Return the pigeon halves to the casserole with the sauce, reheat for 10 minutes and serve.

I assume this would serve 2 or 3 people partial to pigeon. I also assume Signora de’Medici can get pigeons at the market where she lives. Unfortunately, I have never seen a pigeon at the local supermarket, let alone one with its head and feet still attached. Squab (which she suggests as a substitute) is just as difficult to find. In Canada, I suspect grouse could be used. You would have to know how to cook wild meat (it usually has to cook much longer than domestic meat!) as it is very lean, and might be inclined to be a bit tough if the bird is an older one. The recipe she proposes cooks them for 1½ hours, so that should do for any old bird. Apparently the meat should be falling off the bone.

Back to Chicken Cacciatore. Everyone assumes tomatoes are an essential part of the dish, but since tomatoes (from the Americas) were not commonly used in Italian cooking until the late 18th century, any old and authentic recipe for the dish would not use tomatoes. Knowing this, most sources seem to suggest that the dish is really a hunter’s stew, probably made with hare or rabbit, or some kind of feathered game, using wine or vinegar for a sauce, and herbs one can find in the Italian countryside, such as rosemary, sage and thyme.

In my cookbook collection, there are two notable recipes for Chicken Cacciatore which (almost) eschew tomatoes. The first one, closest in intent is the one provided by Giuliano Bugialli. We have made this one often, and I can vouch that it is delicious. Here it is.

2. Heat the olive oil in a large casserole, preferably terra-cotta, and when it is hot, add the chopped ingredients and sauté gently until lightly golden (10 to 12 minutes). Add the chicken pieces and sauté them over moderately high heat until golden all over (about 15 minutes) then add salt, pepper, and hot pepper flakes.

3. Lower the heat and pour in the wine. Let it evaporate very slowly (about 10 minutes), then add the bay leaf, tomato paste, and ½ cup of hot water. Cover and let simmer very slowly for 20 minutes, adding more hot water if needed.

4. At this point, the chicken should be cooked, and there should be a small quantity of thick sauce. Remove the bay leaf and transfer the chicken pieces and sauce to a serving dish. Serve hot. Serves 4.

The second recipe is from the venerable Time-Life Foods of the World series, The Cooking of Italy. This particular book was authored by Waverley Root (1903-1982). In it, his recipe for Polla alla Cacciatore is from the south of Italy, and surprisingly still has no tomatoes in it. I have been making this at least once of month for decades now, and it is still very satisfying.

1. Wash the chicken quickly under cold running water and pat the pieces dry with paper towels. Season the pieces with salt and a few grindings of pepper.

2. In a heavy 10 – 12 inch skillet, heat the olive oil until a haze forms over it. Brown the chicken a few pieces at a time, starting them skin side down and turning them with tongs. Transfer the browned pieces to a plate.

3. Pour off almost all of the fat from the skillet, leaving just a thin film on the bottom. Add the onions and garlic and cook them over moderate heat, stirring constantly, for 8 to 10 minutes, or until they are lightly coloured.

4. Add the wine and vinegar and boil briskly until the liquid is reduced to about 1/4 cup. Pour in the chicken stock and boil for 1 or 2 minutes, stirring constantly and scraping in any browned bits that cling to the pan. Return the browned chicken to the skillet, add the oregano and bay leaf, and bring to a boil. Cover the skillet, reduce the heat and simmer, basting occasionally. In about 30 minutes, the chicken should be done; its juice will run clear when a thigh is pierced with the tip of a sharp knife.

5. To serve, arrange the pieces of chicken on a heated platter. Discard the bay leaf and boil the stock left in the skillet until it thickens slightly and has the intensity of flavour desired. Stir in the black olives and anchovies and cook the sauce for a minute or so longer. Pour the sauce over the chicken.

The fact that it uses white wine suggests a northern origin, but then I will not question Mr. Root’s knowledge or authority here. Anchovies and black olives do suggest southern Italian cooking.

I can imagine that even before tomatoes were finally part of everyday cooking in Italy, someone thought of adding that to a Cacciatore dish as well, especially the chicken one. I have tried many, many variations and one day, I just took about half a dozen of the recipes I had tried and concocted a synthesis of them all. It is terrific! Just make sure you have all the ingredients indicated and make no substitutions. Certainly best done in late summer when fresh tomatoes are plentiful, such as Romas or San Marzano.

1. Season the chicken with salt and pepper. Melt the butter and olive oil in a casserole, and brown the chicken over medium heat. Removed when browned on all sides.

2. Add the bacon to the casserole and cook for a minute or two, then add the onions and garlic, and sauté them for 5 minutes. Scrape the bottom for any browned bits. Add the flour and cook for a couple of minutes, stirring constantly. Add the tomatoes, tomato puree, wine and brandy, chicken stock, bringing to a boil. Simmer covered for 10 minutes. Season with salt, pepper and sugar. Return the chicken to the casserole, and simmer for 25 minutes, stirring occasionally. After 20 minutes or so, add the mushrooms.

3. Remove the chicken to a heated platter, check the sauce for seasoning, bring to a vigorous boil and reduce it to a thick consistency.

4. Off the heat, mix half the parsley and basil into the sauce. Pour the sauce over the chicken and sprinkle the remaining parsley and basil over that.

Some folks who prefer a more authentic chicken cacciatore suggest that the resulting dish (with tomatoes) is best suited as a pasta sauce. The dish is certainly delicious with pasta, especially large noodles like fettuccine or tagliatelle. A green vegetable, like steamed green beans, add even more colour to the dish.

I am sure I will always read new variations for Chicken Cacciatore with great interest, and they will surely keep coming, many arguing it is the authentic one, but what IS authentic with a dish like this? In the end, it is about flavour, and probably, just as important, good friends to share the meal.

I remember not liking pea soup very much as a child. Maybe it was a texture thing. Maybe it was because we often had it during Lent. I guess for every French Canadian kid growing up in Manitoba, pea soup was almost a weekly thing, so it was very ordinary. But I know my mother made good pea soup because I tried it later in life and it was delicious. She had not changed the way she prepared it. And this was her recipe:

1. Place the hambone in a pot, fill pot about 3/4 full with water. Add peas and onion and barley. Bring to a boil and add bay leaves. Add carrot and celery and simmer until peas and barley are well cooked, about 2 hours.

I must admit I don’t quite get the addition of 1 cup pot barley. It does not add to the flavour, nor is it necessary as a thickening agent. Maybe she preferred the resulting texture. I would be inclined to omit it as I have never seen a recipe for pea soup with barley in it. But I suspect every French Canadian mother had her own way. Some even add a cup of diced potatoes to the recipe.

Madame Jéhane Benoît (1904-1987) is one good authority to consult in matters of French Canadian cuisine. Her La nouvelle encyclopédie de la cuisine contains traditional dishes as well as dishes from elsewhere. One of the recipes in her book is called Soupe aux pois classique, and here is her recipe.

1. Wash and drain the peas. Put them in a large casserole with all the ingredients. Bring to a boil and boil for 2 minutes. Remove from the heat and let it rest for 1 hour.

2. Return the casserole to heat and return to a boil. Reduce the heat and simmer, covered, for one hour or until the peas are cooked. Season with salt and pepper.

3. Serve as is, or purée in a blender before serving.

She then goes on to provide some variations, such as making a meatless soup for fasting days. Another variation has the addition of sliced sausages and cooked corn. Yet another adds cheese and crisp bacon. She also suggests that a tbsp of sour cream can be added to each bowl when serving. Finally, she writes that the American version of the classic pea soup uses a ham bone instead of the salt pork.

Mom always used a ham bone for her soup, and I have always done the same. I slowly simmer the ham bone and any meat on it for at least an hour, then refrigerate it until I need it. It will keep like this for about a week or so. Another option is to simmer a smoked pork hock in several cups of water. The intensity of the stock increases as it simmers down. The idea of adding a handful of celery leaves is one I heartily subscribe to. Bay leaves are good. Savory is optional. Simmering a ham bone also flavours the stock with whatever spices were used to cook the ham.

Apparently the Pea Soup served on Canadian Pacific Railway passenger trains was really good. I have that recipe too. It is very similar to Madame Benoit’s, with the little flourish of crisping up some of the salt pork (leaner bits) and adding them at the very end. Here is that recipe.

1. Wash peas well in cold water. In a pot over medium heat, render some fat from the salt pork and sauté the carrot, onion, and celery until tender. Add hot water, slowly at first, the peas, bring all to a boil, and boil for 1 hour.

2. Remove pork and vegetables and continue boiling until peas are thoroughly cooked, adding water, if necessary, to bring to required consistency.

3. Wash salt pork, allow to cool, then dice small. In a small skillet over medium heat, slowly fry until crisp, drain all fat off, and serve in soup like croutons.

This is a very good recipe, actually. I highly recommend it.

The texture of a good pea soup is a matter of taste. I have never liked it too thick, so don’t always blend them. If it is too thick after cooking, you can add some more stock. Taste it frequently. Be sparing with the salt. Pepper is optional too.

When I traveled to Sweden in 1989, I was surprised to learn that Pea Soup is a traditional Thursday night supper in Sweden. Their version certainly reminded me of the French Canadian version, and I can only explain that by the fact that most French Canadians are descended from the Normans, who were Vikings from the Scandinavian countries. Then again, pea soup is such a universal thing, and such an ancient recipe, that the French Canadian version might have come from anywhere.

Pea soup is a very common food in northern countries. German armed forces started eating it during the Franco-Prussian War. It is also a common dish in the Netherlands. It is regular fare for Finnish and Scandinavian armed forces. Naturally, I sought out recipes for the Swedish pea soup and here is one recipe I found at: (http://scandinavianfood.about.com/od/souprecipes/r/peasouprecipe.htm)

Dried Pea Soup (Ärtsoppa, in Swedish)

This is an immensely gratifying, warming soup traditionally made from dried yellow peas and served on Thursdays in Sweden, followed by crêpe-like pancakes with whipped cream and preserves (Pannkakkor) for dessert. Try swirling a teaspoon of grainy brown mustard on top of each serving to enhance both the presentation and the rich combination of flavors.

1. Rinse and pick through 1 lb. dried yellow or green peas. If using whole peas, soak the peas overnight in their soup water (this isn’t necessary if using split peas so long as you can let the soup simmer for 2 to 3 hours).

2. Fill a large pot with 8 cups of water (or 6 if you like a thicker soup. You can always thin it with water as you go along if it looks too dense). Add the peas, 2 finely chopped onions, 1 peeled whole onion studded with two whole cloves, 1 large chopped carrot, and a meaty ham bone (-or- 2 to 3 ham hocks). Bring to a boil, then cover pot and reduce to a simmer over low heat for 90 minutes.

3. If using whole peas, skim off any pea skins that have risen to the surface. Remove 2 to 3 cups of the soup, puree in a blender or food processor, and return puree to the pot (this helps to thicken the soup). Continue to simmer for at least 30 more minutes; another hour or more won’t hurt it.

4. Minutes before serving, remove the studded onion and the meat. Chop the meat (it should amount to about 1 cup) and return to pot. Season the soup with 1 tsp. dried thyme, 1 tsp. ground ginger, 1 tsp. salt, and 1/8 tsp. pepper. Simmer 15 more minutes. Serve, passing around grainy brown mustard to stir into soup to taste.

Many variations can be found for that recipe too. Sometimes the pork (or sausage) is served on the side with mustard, and a hearty rye bread. Herbs may vary too. In my cookbook library I have a number of Scandinavian cookbooks, and each one offers a variation. Apparently, in Sweden and Denmark, you can buy pea soup in a tube. I cannot vouch for its flavour.

Curiously, in France, you are more likely to be served Potage Saint-Germain, which is made with fresh green peas. It is quite different, but delicious. I make this one at the time of the year when we can get fresh peas at market. In Italy, they have a Minestra di Piselli. These are very fine soups, and in a very different league than the split-pea soup variations discussed here.

This is a very brief essay on my experience with pea soup. There are thousands of variations, but one thing is for sure, this is comfort food of the highest order, tempered perhaps by memories of boarding school and other cafeteria-like offerings which pale in comparison to the real thing.

The first time I heard some music by Vivaldi was when I was about 15 years old. It was his Concerto for Two Trumpets, Strings and Continuo in C major, RV 537. I remember it was on a 10-inch 33 1/3 rpm record with a blue label. That was 56 years ago! Since then, if there has been one composer who has accompanied me all these years, it was Vivaldi (with Tchaikovsky a close second). All the others came later along the way.

When I first started buying records in my teens, I was a member of the Columbia Record Club, and I recall purchasing Vivaldi’s Four Seasons played by Eugene Ormandy and the Philadelphia Orchestra. These were a revelation to me, and way back then, Vivaldi was certainly not heard that often. Apparently the recording has been re-issued, but I have moved on since those days, and prefer my baroque music played on instruments true to the period.

I think the second Vivaldi recording I bought was one with Leonard Bernstein and the New York Philharmonic. It had a concerto for diverse instruments with two mandolins, one concerto for oboe, one for flute and one for piccolo. The concerto for diverse instruments was particularly appealing, although by hindsight one shudders at Bernstein’s use of a trumpet in the place of the tromba marina (a stringed instrument).

My third Vivaldi purchase was an RCA recording of Vivaldi Bassoon Concerti, which I enjoyed tremendously, especially a concerto in F (RV 485) with its little ritornello in the third movement. This was the beginning of a lifelong love for Vivaldi’s Bassoon Concerti. I own a couple of complete sets on CD, and am avidly collecting a third, performed my Sergio Azzolini and the players of L’Aura Soave on the Naïve label.

Over the past 50 years, Vivaldi has become a household name for classical music lovers, and a great deal of his music has been recorded, including operas, sacred music and many, many, many concerti. It seems that throughout these 50 years, I have bought Vivaldi recordings, especially on CD and especially on instruments authentic to the period. I don’t think a week goes by without some Vivaldi.

As far as the Four Seasons are concerned, I think that the BIS recording with Nils-Erik Sparf and the Drottningholm Baroque Ensemble (BIS CD-275) is one of the best. The playing is delightful, sharp and crisp and the music sounds completely new. Other recordings have since been issued and been critically acclaimed, particularly the recordings by Europa Galante directed by Fabio Biondi, and by Il Giardino Armonico cnducted by Giovanni Antonini.

The Four Seasons are concerti for violin and string orchestra, although you will find them transcribed for almost any instrument now. They were part of the twelve concerti published as Vivaldi’s Il cimento dell’armonia e dell’invenzione, Op. 8. Other published collections were L’estro Armonico (op. 3) La cetra (Op. 9) and La stravaganza (Op. 4). All reward the listener.

But there are other concerti, usually grouped on recordings by the instruments they feature. There are six flute concerti grouped in Op. 10. There are about 25 cello concerti, and 37 bassoon concerti as well. Especially fascinating are the concerti for viola d’amore, for mandolins, and various groupings of instruments. These are best heard played by period instruments.

The best recording of the concerti for viola d’amore is by Fabio Biondi and Europa Galante. It contains seven concerti as well as the Concerto for viola d’amore and lute in D minor, RV 540. The viola d’amore is very attractive. It has six or seven strings and the sound is slightly nasal, as there are sympathetic strings that add a particular resonance. Also included here is a concerto in F major (RV 97) for viola d’amore which strangely includes oboes, bassoons and hunting horns in its third movement. The effect is quite astonishing and evocative of a hunt.

The same forces gives us the concerti for mandolins and concerti ‘con molti stromenti.’ There are two volumes. The first has three concerti for mandolins, and four for various combinations of instruments. The second also has seven concerti, one of them for the strange combination of solo violin, two hunting horns, 2 oboes, 2 violins, alto viola and bass as well as tympani, the latter a most unusual inclusion for Vivaldi. Both these albums are terrific.

Another favourite album is a Warner Bros. Elatus disc which features two trios and five concerti with various instrumental combinations. The players are Il Giardino Armonico, and their interpretations are nuanced and sensitive.

Finally, a word about the bassoon concerti. At least three complete sets are available, but the best by far are those played by Sergio Azzolini and the ensemble L’aura soave of Cremona. I have always been very fond of the bassoon concerti, and certainly look forward to the remaining two albums to complete the collection. You can hear the complete album of the first set on YouTube.

The series (on Naïve label) also has some striking cover art. I can only suppose that the woodsy quality of the images somehow relates to the woodsy timbre of the baroque bassoon.

Vivaldi’s spirited music is perfect in the morning, it is cheerful and sunny. There is a life-affirming quality about it which is sure to lift one’s spirits. As a listener of Stingray Music, part of our cable service, I get to hear quite a bit of Vivaldi on their Baroque channel and I continue to discover the music of his contemporaries too. There was something incredibly positive about the Baroque period, and certainly Vivaldi’s music epitomizes the period. I always bring a CD or two of Vivaldi’s music to play in the car when I am travelling. And they are also on my MP3 player. Perfect for the gym, for walking, or doing just about anything.